Rage and Fury
by MyDearLadyDisdain
Summary: What happens when the muggle masses find out about the Wizarding world? Set against a World War II-esque conflict. Much drama and romance will ensue in later chapters, I promise. Told from different perspectives.
1. Chapter One

Obviously, none of Harry Potter is mine.

Keep in mind this is my first story.

Monster (Hermione's POV)

The cells are growing. They soak up the serum and quiver with power under my microscope. It worked. A legend turns true. I feel like I just got the highest recognition for a bullshited science project. When I found this legend, I never expected this to work. The combination of these two genes seems as unlikely as the legend states it to be. Apparently, none survive this. This serum has a long dark history.

From the beginning of time, it was used for torture. None would be allowed to survive in that scenario. But the captors didn't even have to kill their victims. Why?

Of course, anyone would spill anything while this snake of a poison wormed in their bodies.

The Chinese did experiments with this substance. They would inject this serum into men, tied down. This would stop the victims hands from ripping themselves apart. That was the cause of death, by the way. Very few survived. The ancients didn't record what happened to those who did. I would assume they've gone mad from the pain.

This is what evil I've been assigned to make. A serum that would drive someone mad. I didn't want to think of it any longer.

Of course, the government will want to see if they can get a super-soldier out of it. They told me anything I can find. They'll test whatever it is. They've tried werewolf poison. Didn't make much of a super-soldier. They've tried to make vampires. Couldn't control them at all. They'd attack the other soldiers after awhile, thirsting for blood. They had to put them down, like dogs… Human life is just as disposable.

So they decided to see if they can combine it. Somebody in a white room must have said: Why the Fuck not? And here I am. Completing a job assigned to me by my captors. Betraying my own kind at every step. I guess I can justify myself. They told me they had my parents. Read off their names, occupation and address. They told me what would happen with them if I didn't comply. I didn't want that. I didn't want to betray my parents. But now, I've chosen to betray my entire race. That's what we are to them. A malignant race, that needs to be eradicated. That's why they've set up those horrid hell-holes they call "camps."

We don't exactly know how the muggle public found out about us. It was right after the defeat of Voldermort. The same week. We celebrated like mad. The war was over. Wizarding kind is free from tyranny. It must have been our avid celebration that gave us out. Somewhere, some firework, that turned into a dragon and breathed real fire…. And the muggle prime minister, he couldn't do anything. It wasn't in his hands, but in the hands of the media.

With this tide of events came the other government. They won the election like normal. Everyone wanted them. They promised to do something about these "witches." They called us the devil's children. People started hating us. The easiest way to unify a nation is to supply a common enemy. And here we were, ready made. It spiraled, from general dislike, into passionate hate, into the muggle forces seizing any wizard they could lay their hands on. At first, they detained us, having no idea what to do with us. They just let us rot in prisons. They quickly learned about wands and disarmament. But they needed to know more. Eventually they built camps for us. This is where I am. However, I am not a prisoner. I'm an esteemed employee. I'd never think being a muggle-born would get me any special treatment. But then again, no one thought this would ever happen.

They took some of the smarter muggle-borns and offered them a choice. They could go back to the camps, or lead a somewhat comfortable life, giving information to the research teams made by the government. At first, I chose the former. The camps were hell, but I couldn't betray my kind like that. That night was probably the worst of my life. A man with an electric stick and heavy boots came into my cell that night. I don't want to think of the things he did to me. They asked me again the next day. This time, I would've said yes. Oh god, I would've! After what I had been through the night before, I'd have said to anything. They also threw my parents' names in. I guess I could justify myself by saying I did this to save my family. But I don't want to lie to myself anymore.

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Today is Halloween. October 31st, 2001. Today is also the day we're supposed to carry out the experiment on some poor soul from this camp. All I can hope for is that it's a failure, and the subject dies after a few minutes. But this is Halloween, and things never happen as you wish on **this** day…

I walk from the research quarter to the Lab. They put it clear across the whole stretch of the camp. To torment me? To make me pass through the corridors of hell, as people scream and cry and shout on either side. I try not to look, but sometimes, I catch a glance of one of their eyes… Sometimes I see fear, of what possible horrors await them tomorrow. Sometimes fury, directed at me. Sometimes, they are so far gone that I see nothing.

Usually I try not to look too much at them. Sometimes, I see a familiar face, and my heart tears up. I find that it doesn't even matter if I didn't like the person. It's still painful. The worst is seeing them in the experiment room. I won't go into details of what I have seen done there. But once, I remember seeing Pansy Parkinson. I remembered how I hated her, back in Hogwarts. I looked for that hate, but found only pity. I tried to remember how jealous I had been of her long, pretty, sleek hair, so unlike mine. All I could see was her face veiled in torment.

I walked into the little dark room. This was our observation room. Across one wall was a huge window looking into the experiment room. Now in the middle of that room was a slab of concrete. Just big enough for a man to lie on. There were four metal curves peeking out of the concrete where that man's hands and feet went. It reminded me of Jesus on his cross. I'm not a religious person, it's just what I though of. Around this concrete bed stood some electronic devices. One to monitor heartbeat, another to administer dosage of the serum. It's already all set up for the experiment. Now all that's to be done is to wait for the rest to get here.

First, the other doctors would walk in. I thank my lucky stars they don't know who I am by birth; they think I'm just another muggle. Then the two "orderlies" should come in carrying our experiment. I waited with baited breath to see who they would choose. What if I knew them? Could I really do this to someone?

I didn't want to be here. Was there really a reason I should be? I gave them all the data. They didn't need me to preside over this little session. What more could they want from me… I decided to tell Higgins, the other doctor I wasn't feeling well. I said I'd go over to the infirmary wing and lie down a bit.

"Don't you want to see how this goes? It's your work. I'd imagine you'd want to see if it turned into anything…." His eyes were hopeful. He actually wanted me here… Too bad Jack, I couldn't be here.

"You'll tell me in detail I'm sure." I walked out of the room. I was in the hallway. I was free, I thought. And then I saw the two gorilla-like orderlies. They were dragging someone into the room. No, not dragging. That's how prisoners were usually transported. They would loosen all their muscles and make the orderlies carry them along. Sometimes, they didn't even do it on purpose. Sometimes they couldn't find the strength.

But this one was walking. And he held his chin high. Through the bruises, and scars, I could still see his face. It was gaunt, and dark, and he had a beard now, but I could still see it clear as daylight, and I could see who it was that I have condemned. His black hair was now shoulder-length, he was tall, and skinnier then Mrs. Weasley could ever have the pleasure of criticizing. But it was still him. I could see his eyes shine green, from the sunken depths of his face.

His eyes burned me as we met. I knew he hated me. That's ok. He didn't hate me as much as I did. I could only stare as he passed.

I couldn't let them do this to a person like this. Harry, the savior of the wizarding world. For all the things that have happened in his life, for all the things he withstood, this just wasn't fair. Of all humanity I've ever encountered, here was someone who deserved something bettrer.

Morality aside, this was my best friend. A dozen memories flashed through my head. Us laughing, in Hogwarts, in class, him and Ron playing hangman in a History of Magic. I didn't want to see this now. I had to intervene, but the question was: What could **I** do? I should at least get back into the room. If I find anything with which to delay this, it would be in there…

I explained to Jack Higgins 'I guess I agreed with him.' Might as well see what turned out of this. I started questioning him.

"How do they pick the subject? Do you know?' I tried to sound as normal as possible. Hopefully, he'd attribute the shaking in my voice to me feeling ill.

"This one, had a high pain endurance." Oh, Harry… "I'm not sure how they found that out…It might have been an informer. Apparently he was something of an FBI agent in his world." No, he never got to be. This whole clusterfuck of a war started before he could get himself into auror training. However, I didn't doubt Jack's fact on the pain endurance. Oh, dear merciful god, what have I done? Pain endurance?

"Pain endurance?" I asked.

"Yeah, you should know, it was your project… Don't they go mad or something form the pain? Well, the government doesn't need half-crazed soldiers, they need good ones, that will follow orders." I stared, transfixed, at Harry being bolted to the slab.

I stammered "You mean, they won't give him morphine or nothing?" I could see Harry getting agitated. He kept shouting something, but it didn't register in me.

"Morphine's in short supply right now…Why?" The pain would drive him mad Jack, that's a little inhumane.

"No reason, just wondering I guess."

Harry's shouts came to focus now. He was cursing the prison guards. Asking them what they would do with him. You could almost smell the animal fear. He's probably been in this chamber before…. He knows nothing pleasant could come out of this. What he doesn't know is just how unpleasant this could turn out.

The prison guards started to get annoyed. They demanded silence.

"Fine, then tell me something. Who was that woman that we saw outside?" Well played Harry. But now you'll really hate me.

"Oh she," the more vicious looking guard smile a bit. "She's a doctor here. Hell of a woman, if I ever saw one. Got some nice damn brains on her too. Not as nice as those legs, but hell…From what I know, she designed this whole lil' experiment."

The guards are now sadistically grinning down on the man that they rendered helpless. I feel like I'm going to be sick. Hearing those words, he turns, to the mirror in his room. Only, he knows it's not a mirror but a window, and he knows I'm watching him. He doesn't say anything, but just glares, as though he knows where I am.

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We've been here 20 minutes, and the other's are just about ready. They'll start any second. There's Dr. Higgins giving the order to start up the monitor that will show us Harry's heart beating. Now the machine that will administer the serum is being powered up. Harry lays there, and tries to breathe evenly. I can see, through his valiant show of courage, that inside, he's afraid. And this tears me up even more, because I know he has good reason to be.

A few more minutes now, and they'll start injecting the serum. At this point, I just want them to get it over with. I want to be in that room, holding Harry's hand, providing some small degree of comfort for the damned. Instead I'm here, just another set of cold, observant eyes. Higgins turns to me and asks me if I'm ready. I tell him yes and we start.

The serum moves from its plastic bag and into Harry's veins. They're hooked up all over his body. His breathing speeds up. He doesn't know what's happening. All he sees is some strange clear substance creeping into his body. I hear him say 'What is this?'

Higgins presses a button and now his voice fills the chamber where Harry lays.

"Please try to relax. From our calculation this should only last 30 minutes. If you relax your body, this will all be a lot less unpleasant." His voice was cold and distant. Harry obeyed though. He didn't know what else he could do. He was still in anticipation of what will surely come. He kept eyeing the substance hanging in plastic bags above him.

"What is this? What are you pumping into me?' His voice was desperate.

"You're not in a position to ask." That was all that Higgins deemed necessary as a reply.

Another minute ticked away with no sign of changed. Perhaps the experiment failed. I prayed and hoped and wished with all my heart that nothing will come of it. That maybe, they will decide to switch the subject, anything. But no one was listening. Harry couldn't escape from the fate that held him prisoner. No amount of wanting would change what I have done to him.

The heart monitor was the first sign. His heart rate started escalating. At first hardly noticeable, in time it grew to where one could hardly distinguish between the individual beats, that whizzed by in succession.

Some of Harry's muscles started twitching. He tried to breath normally, and relax his body. This didn't help. The twitching became shudders that passed all over his body. Soon he was violently shaking. Before the end of the night he would flail, like a dying fish, on his concrete bed.

At first, he tried to control himself. He's been tortured before. He knew that the best thing was to try and not make any sounds. He failed. At first it was a gasp and an expression of pain, as his body jerked upwards. But he lost control over his pain and his body. Harry let out a scream, and it paralyzed me on the spot. More screams. They started sounding more insane. More and more like the howls and screeches of wild animals, rather then a human. Control was impossible now.

At this point, I sunk to the floor, and sat against a wall. I don't think anyone paid attention to me.

I didn't escape though. I could still hear his body, fighting the concrete and steel. I could still hear his screams, and they still echo in my head. The screams then turned to words. Words yelled at us. I realized he was begging us to make it stop. Anything, he said, I'll do anything if you just stop this. Again and again, he addressed the mirror in his room, but his words were met with cold distance. He begged and appealed to our humanity. He said he would tell us anything we want. But no one answered. He cried for mercy before the end of the night. I didn't see this. I was still on the floor, staring into space. All it signified is that we have broken this man. I don't think I've ever seen Harry cry. Or beg for mercy from his enemies.

I think that night I destroyed something that was too precious for our world. A type of pride, which almost nothing can mar. My fate is such, that I have found something that will break any man.

It was over in thirty minutes, just like Higgins said. The doctors decided to come back to it tomorrow, because their "subject" passed out at the very end. No one looked at me, on the floor. They didn't really care anyways.

I got up and went over to the window. He was lying on the slab of concrete, but there was steam coming of his body. Like a fish, that was just fried. However, that's not all that I noticed. He was significantly larger. His body was now to big for the slab of concrete where he lay. This makes sense, as I have seen the cells enlarge under the serum's power.

My head was empty at this point. For a few brief moments in time I had the peace of absolute quiet. It didn't last.


	2. Chapter Two

Obviously, I don't own any Harry Potter materials.

The length of this chapter is a little shorter, and I apologize.

But anyway, evntually I'm going to switch to a third person view point. This is just giving the premise and settings. Again please read and review to tell me what you think.

Monster - Continued

(Hermione's POV)

_I got up and went over to the window. He was lying on the slab of concrete, but there was steam coming of his body. Like a fish, that was just fried. However, that's not all that I noticed. He was significantly larger. His body was now to big for the slab of concrete where he lay. This makes sense, as I have seen the cells enlarge under the serum's power._

_My head was empty at this point. For a few brief moments in time I had the peace of absolute quiet. It didn't last…_

All I could do now was lean my head against the cool glass, and sob. Nothing left to do. I've accomplished my task, haven't I? Was this fate? Was it my lot to create things like this?

And then I thought, what exactly have I created. I knew in theory, I've created a monster. If Harry was still alive that is. After what I have witnessed, all my coherence told me otherwise. He should be dead because no human body should have to go through what I had seen. But there was the green monitor, hooked up to his breathing chest. The dry green beeps marked time now…

And I kept thinking. I didn't want to think now, oh no. But the more I seemed to resist, the more irresistible these thoughts became. Like fighting devil's snare.

I thought about what I had done. As of now, all I knew about what I had done to my best friend was:

A. Put him through Hell,

B. Gave him the werewolf curse, or

C. Made him into something worse then either a werewolf or vampire…

Ad what if I did create something very powerful. What if I succeeded in making what the government wanted me to, a super solier. Was I not putting the last letter on the Wizarding Death Warrant?

From every angle of this, I was guilty. From every angle, I had sinned more horribly then I could have ever fathomed. There were enough reasons, a thousand times over, to loathe myself.

Then, again I thought of fate. Oh, how cruel the irony of this. I only just see. I guess my fate is to accomplish the academic task assigned to me. Even if the academics are gruesome. And I have to do it. There's no way to fight fate. It is like Devil's Snare. All I can do now is look at the outcome of my action. Like Dr. Frankenstein, I have truly created something. Something, which I have no control over.

It dawns on me, that the creature isn't responsible. The creature isn't the true monster, but the Doctor was. And so I am now. I am the one to be feared and hated. I am the one to denied entry into villages. I am the one that ought to be chased away with fire and pitchforks. I am the monster, and before me, there is just a man. A broken man, lying on a slab of concrete.

I stare at his face for a few minutes as I soliloquize. I hardly notice one of the gorilla-like orderly entering the room. He starts sweeping the room with a stiff, grey brrom.

Then, the silnce begins to shatter. The green monitor begins to beep faster. Why would Harry's heart go faster? This was all supposed to be over.

The orderly looks at him funny at first. Then the heart rate goes faster and faster. I see the orderly backing up out of the corner of my eye, as I stare at Harry. What if he dies? What if it turns out that it would be better that he does die…

Then the shit really starts to hit the fan. Harry finds his consciousness somewhere in the blackness. His eyes slam open, and he gives a short strangled gasp, like a bark. I can see the orderly is scared. Maybe he noticed how much bigger Harry looks. And I find out that he should be.

A baritone growl vibrates from Harry's throat and in an instant he has jumped up and his feet are planted in the concrete. I should have guessed what happened right then, but I was too far gone, too petrified to make any decent observation. I should have noticed that his restraints were still on, yet he broke through. I should have noticed the metal sticking out of the concrete, twisted and torn. If nothing, I should have noticed the cracks in the concrete where his feet landed. But I didn't. All I noticed was Harry's sharp teeth, and burning eyes. I saw his skin stretched over the new mass of his body, and bones protruding, sharper then ever, from his outline. I saw the rage in his eyes and that's where I ran. I didn't run fast enough to miss Harry extending one gigantic claw of a hand and catching the orderly's neck.

I bolted, half blinded by tears and fear, to my car. The "staff" parking lot wasn't far of. I got in and drove through the black forest surrounding the camp. I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was that I had to get away from the rage and furious accusation in Harry's flaming eyes. And so, the monster was driven away. Halloween was over…

Animal (Harry's POV)

Sure I remember that day. How could I not. It was pretty _memorable_. I'd probably have to say that if I remember any day in my life, my curse would be to remember that one.

I was living in one of those "detainment facilities." But words always sound nice. Especially when their picked for that reason. This "facility" was anything but nice. Detainment facility? Try concentration camp. And obviously I was the prisoner.

Well, lots of real delightful things went on in these facilities. You know, human torture, murder, rape and the like. Voldermort now looks like a fuzzy bunny rabbit compared to these facilities.

On this particular day, Halloween I believe, I got to be the one to partake in one of their activities. Specifically, an experiment. You can imagine my delight. I was like a High School girl preparing for her first prom. I could hardly hold myself back.

No, I loathed the future when I was lying awake the night before. I'd participated in enough of this cute "experiments" to know that I wouldn't enjoy one bit of this. But then again, no one enjoyed anything in that camp. Except the workers, who smiled as they sent some unknown venom through your body.

Everything was pretty boring up to when I was actually taken into the experiment room. Single file march to the mass shower, no breakfast that day(again), no drink, hard labor,… You know, the usual.

But then, things got into motion, like a wheel on a down-sloping hill. Once it gets going, there's no way to stop these kinds of things. As my ape-like guards walked me to the experiment room, I saw something I didn't believe.

Let's be clear, at that point I'd given up hope. I thought all I, or anyone else had left in that place, was eventual death. All that there was left to do for me was to remain human. And I tried. Dammit, I tried my hardest. It was just so goddamn hard… All my strutting and high chins eventually led me to nothing. Sometimes, I wonder if that's why they picked me. Because they could still see that I was a human. That I held myself straight

But then I saw her, Hermione Granger. This should have torn me apart. Another friend, dying alongside with me. She wasn't dying though. That much was apparent. She was wearing a lab coat. My first thought was that she must have infiltrated the camp. She must be working for our side. They'll be coming to get us soon! I couldn't believe it. Was something really on the way?

Shows you to trust people. I asked one of my primate friends later who she was. His answer: She designed the experiment. Great. She was actually working for them.

I've heard of this before. Wizards working for the muggles in exchange for their lives. Hermione must have been selected. And she did it. She betrayed her own kind. Of all her other trespasses against me, this is the one I will never forgive. Constant vigilance, even in the face defeat, we must stand tall. There is greatness even in dismay and death, if death was achieved by your terms. You choose how to take defeat, and she did not take it the right way.

Well, what follows is obvious. They inject the serum, I scream in pain and pass out. Really no point in elaboration further into that. To my own surprise, I wake up eventually though. When I passed out, I can honestly say I thought I was passing into the realm of the dead. Wasn't that lucky. Never was lucky, really.

I can't really remember my first hours with perfect clarity. My brain or eyes or something was probably still changing. I remember ripping through my steel bonds as though they were dusty ribbons. I remember grasping the neck of my orderly, the gorilla. I still don't know what happened to him. I can't recall ever killing him, or letting him go.

I do remember some others falling beneath my feet, broken. Some soldiers. Their bullets whizzed past me, and I remember thinking "These guys have some poor aim." All I can remember of the rest of my stay in that hellhole is a whirl of colors. But then, the outside. The first breath of fresh air. My first real look at the moon in years. I felt such strange primeval joy, the joy of a starving wolf, sinking is teeth into his first deer.

I ran. Through the black forests, and over the fields. I don't know how fast I moved. I don't even know if I ran like a human, or on all fours like a beast. Maybe both. In my ecstasy, I didn't know myself as either. For days after that, I lived like an animal in the woods. I slept in the moss which was more a bed then the sack they give you in the camp. I hunted deer, and ate their raw flesh. I had a strange primeval jubilation. I didn't have to think. All I had to do was survive. I probably would have gone on living like that, never returning to the human realm. It's easy being an animal. If you're miserable, you never understand that you are. If you are happy, all that you understand is that you want more of what caused it. There is no stress, melancholy… Animals don't get depressed or ponder suicide when their lover leaves them. I only had thoughts of two things: sleep and food. It must have been because I was so exhausted from the incessant grey, dirty days of the camps.

The joy didn't last long though. Soon, I would have to discover exactly what it was that I have become.

________________________________________________________________________

I don't know how long I lived in that forest. If I had to venture a guess: a week. I don't know when I noticed it though. Something strange began to happen. I didn't understand then. I didn't understand anything that happened to me. I had no idea how I was so strong, or why hunting deer was so easy. All I knew was that the deer was food…for awhile. Something odd began to happen: the black seed of all my troubles.

I ate and ate the deer, but over days, I just got hungrier. After awhile I had to gorge myself on the fruit of the forest. I remember seeing it in the paper later, an increase of wolves in the forest. It must have been odd, seeing the numbers of dead furry animals in on the leafy floor. I'm pretty sure I cleared that place of anything bigger then a rabbit in those few days. But, aside from my environmental threat…

My body kept demanding something, the want growing by the hour. I ran around in search of it. I combed through the forest, hoping I would get a clue as to exactly what my body wanted. I ran for days, bleary with this bizarre starvation. In my desperate searches, I stumbled across the aroma. It was more wonderful then anything I've smelt before. My stomach growled at me to plunge after it. And I did. I bolted to the direction of the smell. It got stronger and stronger as I ran, the odor blinding me. Then, I saw them. Lights in the distance. It was a small village that I have stumbled upon. Don't ask me which village it is, I couldn't tell you. Maybe it was a small city. I remember approaching the unfamiliar brick objects. My memory begin to slowly replace itself. My humanity finally started to push itself forward. Unfortunately, it was too slow.

This cute little village was in its final throes of poverty, I could see that. There was graffiti and neon signs advertising all sorts of things found in the night. It was night by the way, that hid my form in an alley. I didn't pay attention to the village though. The scent was still driving me crazy. I stumbled up that alley, and there I saw her. A prostitute. Raggedy clothes of cheap latex, bleached hair, golden, rouge over a thousand wrinkles. In short: a real beauty. Her appearance didn't repel me though. I could barely see her. All I could see was that the scent was coming from everywhere, including her.

She saw me blundering up the alley. I don't know why she didn't notice the state of my clothes. I had after all been living in the woods. All she did was smile and tell me $20 dollars.

There my instinct took over. I lunged at her, and landed on top of my prey. She started fighting back. I'd rather not mention some of the gruesome details there… But point being is that _her_ blood and flesh, not of the clean young deer of the forest, is what has wrangled my senses. Her, a dirty, old hooker. I tasted fire in her blood then, cocaine or heroine. It tasted like the streets, like the misery of an empty stomach silenced with alcohol.

Of course, it wasn't specifically _her_ flesh that called to me. It was human flesh. She was just the first of that which I have stumbled upon.

But here my humanity awoke with a start, like from a nighttime terror. I looked at the human I have slain, and then ran. Oh the wonderful things I experienced: self loathing, disgust, fear, hatred for my creators. I hid in the forest a short time. I had finally awoken, and my morality was back. I could no longer sleep my life away in the skin of an animal. For the first time since finding out Hermione's true motifs, I experienced true emotional agony. From that point, I decided to get myself together. There must be other wizards who have escaped my fate. From here, I had to learn about myself. From here, I decided I must seek them out and offer any help I can. Somewhere deep, I was still a man.

Note: About Harry's POV

This is why I don't like first person. Everything that you see is limited by the character's vision. If your character doesn't want to talk about something, that detail has to be left out. I really wanted to get a bit more gory on you all here, but couldn't. I kind of like to think that perhaps Harry has way to much pride to talk about that. I don't know... Maybe he'll break that rule a few time in the future... Maybe if you push him hard enough anyway.

I think from now on I'll progress to more objective 1st peron narrators and 3rd p. What do you all think? Good or bad idea?

Anyway, please review to tell me what you thought.


	3. Chapter Three

Return to the Burned House

The grey light had woken him up again. This happened every morning. And every morning, Ronald Weasley got up at exactly 7:30. And every day, he wishes he could keep sleeping. And every day, he couldn't find anything to do with himself. And every day he would feel sorry for himself again. And every day he would think about everything that has gone so wrong.

Starting with the death of most of his family. First went his father, when he tried to negotiate with the muggles. He brought them some plugs as peace offerings. They brought a Remington shotgun, and a blow to the face. Their family was never the same. Around the dinner table, there was no yellow warmth. Their mother cried right into her soup at first. His brothers were all solemn with their hate of muggles. Then they too fell one by one.

George, the remaining twin, got beheaded in the burning of Diagon Alley. After the muggle soldiers captured the street, they took a blade to the necks of a couple right there in the middle square, in front of the burning building of Ollivander's. It was only to the ones who fought back. George tried to use his fireworks to distract them or something. This is what Ron heard. But there were no survivors, so nothing was for sure of course. Nothing has been since the day the war has started.

After that, it was one brother after another. First Charlie, when he came with his dragons, to try to bust some prison camp. Then Bill. They came for him at night, to Shell Cottage. Him and Fleur were taken to those camps, which was just as good as dead. They lost contact with Percy. He was probably dead too. Ron couldn't see any other end for anyone.

All that was let was him, his sister and their mother. But then someone had found about the Burrow. It was a matter of time. But all that Ron thought of when he thought of how someone would find out about a house in the middle of no where, was one of his brother's screaming face, chained up somewhere in one of the muggles' "camps."

They fled then, to the only place they could think of. Grimmaud place. It was his sister that thought of it. It had all the muggle defenses possible. They both remembered hearing about it during the order of the Phoenix era. But they left something behind. As the Burrow caught fire from an angry hand, Mrs. Weasley was sleeping. Ron and Ginny were not. They weren't home. That's the only reason they could escape. They were both in the woods, gathering mushrooms for dinner. Ginny held him back with a curse. She did right of course. They would be dead if she had not. Ron remembered lying in the woods with the harsh, cruel heat of the fire licking them both.

Grimmaud place was the right place to go, and he was happy he still had his sister to lead him. He'd never have admitted it then, but he can now. Now that there's no one left, there's also no one to be ashamed of. But there's also no one to tell it to.

Him and his sister stayed there for a while. They apperated to the woods to fish. It was easy. He remembered some of the survival he learned when camping with Harry and Hermione, on their fantastical quest for horcruxes. They were gone too now. They got them almost the first day of the war. Some dark hands, coming out of the blackness of the streets, grabbed Harry and whisked him out of sight. Shot were fired. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and ran. They ran through alleys, and narrow, steaming streets. Hermione knew what it was at once. She knew the that the war had begun. She had followed it on the news and figured it out. Ron never thought that the muggles would attack. After they got Hermione, Ron was never really the same, but he still wore the ring on his engagement finger.

Ginny just disappeared, a week ago. Ron tried looking for her, all that he could do really. Take Harry's old cloak and wander the street where she was last. He didn't find her. And now, he woke up every morning, went to find food, prepared it, and slept. He didn't even talk to Kreacher anymore. There was nothing more to his life and nothing more to say. He was just as dead as his family.

But there was some sick irony to his situation. He remembered wanting to have no siblings. He wanted to be special and alone and independent. He wanted to have his way clear, so that he could make his own path forward. Now this was true. But there was no path forward. There was only up, and that was called awake, and down, which was called asleep.

Only now did he realize how much he relied on others' leadership. Without them, there was no motion. He was in a stagnant swamp, and he couldn't move anywhere. His life had become pretty pathetic, and he tried to think very little. Sometimes, he'd get so furious at himself, that he'd drink himself half to death. Sometimes so depressed that it was three quarters. Usually, he just tried thinking about the next thing to do. Always for tomorrow. More food for tomorrow, clean dishes for tomorrow. But tomorrow was never to come.

Until one November evening. This was an ordinary evening, like any other. Ron had already stopped searching for his sister. She was gone a month now. The leaves had started falling now. The air smelled fresh and crisp, awaiting the first snowfall. This wasn't good news for Ron. How can one get food, if it is winter outside. Soon, the lake wood freeze over and the fish would fall into their silver liquid dreams. And he, he would be left with no food source.

Perfectly ordinary in his grey, dribbling life. Until he came home. It was already 7 in the evening and he had just caught some huge fish. The wind was howling and knocking on the window of the old house. Ron knew there was something off once he stepped into the corridor. There was a foreign scent in the air. It smelled like the wind and the deep parts of a forest. And the kitchen light was on. There was definitely something off. Ron crept to the closed door, under which one could see the yellow candlelight of the kitchen.

His wand was out and his hand shaky. Ron hadn't had to use any offensive spells in a while. He wasn't sure if he could handle another wizard, ready to duel for the property. For a second though, before his hand reached the door, Ron wished it WAS another wizard, ready to kill him for a place to sleep. Or maybe some muggle soldiers, with their guns at the ready, waiting patiently to seize him and drag him of to his death.

But what he found in his kitchen was neither a Dark wizard, or a soldier. There was a man, with his back turned to Ron, who was guzzling down the butterbeer that Ron hadn't touched in forever. The man could barely be called that. His clothing was completely torn. It might have once been orange, but now was murky, swamp color. It hung in frays around his legs and arms. His hair was matted with leaves and mud. It might have been black. This brought Ron on guard. He raised his wand, pointing it to somewhere on the man's back. The stranger must have felt Ron's presenece because his face twisted half way so that one green eye could get a look at Ron. Because of surprise, or shock or utter disbelief, Ron reacted before he realized it. He aimed a stunning hex at the man. It was almost like he was trying to banish a ghost. And that's exactly what the man felt like, a ghost that came back from Ron's former life, to haunt him on his impotency. The man dropped, causing a tremendous thump to resound through the house.

For about a minute, all Ron could do was stand there, looking on the man he had just dropped. Now that his face was visible, there was no denying the resemblance between this strange guest and his former best friend. But at the same time, not at all. This man did not at all reflect the memory that Ron had of Harry. For one, he was huge, about a foot taller then the Harry he knew. Maybe the same in his skinny build, but how can someone grow a foot after they are 18? And then there was his face. It was like looking in your reflection in a murky lake. He had a few deep scars running through his face and neck. He had a beard, that was also muddy. It seemed like it was just growing in a month or so.

There was only one way to be sure, and Ron saw it. He approached the huddled figure and kneeled beside his head. With the tip of his wand, he lifted the hair covering the man's forehead and swept it out of the way. There it was. Slight, and almost non-existent compared to the other scars, but there non-the-less.

"Impossible…' Ron muttered under his breath. He saw himself how his best friend was taken by the authorities. No one survived those camps. But here was the proof of his error. But here he was, torn and frayed at the edges, but still the same man.

"What has master done now to cause such a ruckus? Kreacher was sleeping peacefully in his room…" Kreacher had stopped dead in his drawl when he saw the huge mass of some dirty man in his kitchen. It seemed that time had taken no effect at all on Kreacher. He had the same wrinkled face, and hairy ears. And his eyes were now as huge as dinner plates. House-elves rarely forget. He remembered his former short-lived master. And this man lying in his kitchen was no doubt that same master. But then Kreacher had always known he was alive, somewhere deep inside his rusty mind. There are few bonds as powerful as a house-elf and his master.

For a few minutes, only the yellow candle flames moved. Kreacher came out first.

"Master Potter…" He drawled out. "Look at all the mud, and now Kreacher must clean it up… Oh, and for master to show up in this state. And all the work falls on Kreacher…" With a snap of the old elf's fingers, Harry was floating three feet above the ground. And in a few seconds, he was being raised up the stairs, his fingers scraping the ancient rugs of the Black house.

Ron could only watch. His friend was back, from the dead. Then he had to giggle, despite himself. Of course it would be Harry. How many times has he proven himself impervious to death. Has he not already once come back from the other side, before the Battle of Hogwarts? Ron clearly remembered looking onto his limp frame, as Hagrid carried the "dead" Harry Potter.

The giggles turned into mad cackles. His friend was alive. He was no longer alone. It seemed like his life surged with meaning once more. Now, the outside world seemed to invite him. It breathed life into his lungs. Now, Ron wanted to fight. Now it seemed he had a purpose. With hope, that everything is not absolutely lost, there was meaning again.

____________________________________________________________

Harry woke with a start. His hand jumped to shield his eyes from the thin light. Harry had been traveling by night for days, holing up in some damp corner to sleep during the day. Some instinct told him to get out of the way of the light. But Harry had spent the last week trying to fight every part of his instincts. All of them seemed detestable to him now. After his run in with his first victim, he wanted none of his nature. All he wanted was his cool logic(although to be honest he never was very cold or collected). He'd been trying to be more and more human. He'd thought of the safest place to be, and this brought him here, to the House of Black. And now, he was in a comfortable bed, more comfortable then anything has been in years. He noticed he was also much cleaner then he remembered himself being. Living a life of transience, he'd never given much thought to hygiene. I guess the present inhabitant of this house thought differently. On a chair before him was a set of clothes laid out.

At first Harry thought about exploring the rest of the house, looking for the inhabitant. He had to proceed with caution. But then, thinking logically, he decided that if who ever was here wished him harm, they'd hardly have given him a bath.

Harry began to put on the designated clothes. They were rather tight, but once again, he had not remembered anything so soft. They were simple enough, just black trousers and a black button down short, but once again it made him remember something of civilization. He remembered something of self image, appearance, and the want for elegance. In search of that hazy memory, Harry was drawn to the mirror that glinted out of the open bathroom, adjacent to this bedroom. The man he saw in the mirror resembled nothing of what he remembered himself to be. But then again he had not seen a mirror for awhile. He knew of his beard, and of his scars, but now, when he genuinely examined his face, each one was an unpleasant surprise. Looking down he saw a clean razor laid out for him. Once again, drawn to the memories of his other life, Harry had decided to restore some of his former appearance.

Even seeing his clean face in the mirror, Harry was shocked at how much he had changed. No matter, he had decided. He threw this to his own vanity and decided he looked good enough for anything he would need to do. Why would he need appearance anyway? For a second, a curtain of red hair sparkled in front of him. But no, he had not permit himself to think of this for years now. It was much less painful that way, a self-defense mechanism. It was automatic now. He hardly needed to remind himself. But then something, maybe being in this house again, broke that down. Harry was flooded with the memories of his lover. Everything from their sixth year at Hogwarts, to the night after Voldermort's death, when Harry had finally let himself go with her. This he remembered most clearly, when he looked into her quivering eyes, and felt himself fall into her.

Ginny Weasley had been gone from his life long. All he could hope for her was that she might have had the convenience of an early death, rather the stretched out, humiliating existence as a prisoner where he had been. But despite her being out of sight so long, Harry couldn't stop his heart from bleeding for her.


End file.
